Whitefish River our arms will bandage.

her thirst is what has her leave the stillness of the cave where she sulks near her brother. the scent of blood - his blood, is thick and overwhelming and she's starting to hate the rock all around, but the prospect of leaving him unguarded is scarier. 

she leans over the water, starkly aware that her own mother is a short distance away. she wants nothing more than simple comfort, longs for it - but her stubbornness keeps her at tail's length. the water is cool and sweet, and soothes her throat. even though she's said exceedingly little since they found Drago, it hurts all the same. her mother begins to speak, and the shrike pauses, twisting back to glance at Aure as she speaks. most of the words her father and mother speak are simply deflected by a wall of unresolved and undirected anger, but by the stillness of the riverbank, for the first time in a long while, Isi listens. 

does she love her family? she thinks so. she loves Draco, and underneath all the anger there must be love for her mother and father there too. it's just hard to reach. she mulls over her mother's words for a long moment, and then, finally, "ok." she doesn't trust her mother's words - she's long past that. but she's willing, now, to wait and see just how things unfold. she blinks at Aure, tongue slipping over her muzzle to catch a few stray drops of water. she allows her acceptance of this to hang in the air a while longer, and then asks, "when's Drago gonna be better?" she refuses to consider the alternative, or what she'd do in that case. the alternative seems impossible to imagine and so she is convinced it will not come to pass.